


Denial Ain't Just A River

by sadIittlenerdking



Series: Angst and Anger [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Flirting, M/M, Making Out, penny sucks at talking, quentin is flirtatious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Part two in a drabble series. Quentin wants to talk about the kiss, and Penny is . . . Penny.





	Denial Ain't Just A River

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the love and support guys, it means a lot!!!

“Quentin,” Penny mutters, slamming his book shut and squeezing his eyes closed, “If you don’t _shut up_ , I am going to bash your face into the wall until you literally can’t think ever again.”

Quentin looks up from his own book, “No you won’t,” He says before looking back down at it and turning the page. ‘ _Just like you won’t talk about what happened_ ,’ he thinks.

Penny exhales, long and slow before sitting up, shoving all of the research books and papers off his lap to glare at him, long and hard. “There’s nothing to talk about. Let it go.” He growls, hands stretching to the side so he can push himself off the couch and across the room to the bar.

“We kissed.” Quentin murmurs. “People usually talk about kisses.”

Penny harrumphs. “Didn’t realize we could consider you a person.”

“That’d hurt, but you don’t mean it.” Quentin looks up again, glancing at him from behind his hair. “You’re just deflecting.”

“The only thing I’m deflecting,” Penny says, violently grabbing one of the many bottles of whiskey off the shelf, and a glass, “Is your thoughts constantly bouncing around inside my head. You have wards. Use them.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Yeah. I got that. Thanks for the newsflash, asshole.”

“Maybe I think -,”

“I know what you think!” He exclaims, slamming the bottle down on the table. “That’s the fucking problem! You don’t stop thinking, and I hear every god damn thought.” He huffs, “You ever think maybe I was just trying to get you to shut up by filling your stupid little fantasy? Maybe I just pitied the poor little sad boy that nobody loves. You ever think that might be what _happened_?” He scoffs, grabbing his glass up off the table. “No, you don’t think that. Because you’re a fucking idiot.”

Quentin’s silent for a moment while Penny gulps down the whiskey in one quick flash. But then, he’s setting his books aside and pulling his legs up on the couch with him, and looking up at Penny like the most pathetic little dog he’s ever seen. The full scale assault on Penny’s brain of all these thoughts and doubts actually crashing around in Quentin’s head doesn’t help, either.

“I was trying to avoid thinking that,” Quentin murmurs, soft, as his pulls his knees up against his chest. “Kinda the one thing I didn’t want to believe.”

“Fucks sake.”

Quentin sighs. “I just thought - what happened … I thought maybe it was something good. For once. And, I didn’t want to believe it was just you fucking with me.” His hair falls around his face as he tucks his chin atop his knees.

Jesus christ, Penny thinks, setting the glass on the table with a sigh. He’d actually fucking hurt his feelings.

“I wasn’t fucking with you.”

Quentin’s breath hitches as he lifts his head up to look at him. “Then what was it, Penny? You can’t just - make up your mind. Do you like me or don’t you?”

“ _I don’t._ ” Quentin nods jerkily, and Penny finds himself rounding the couch to sit next to him, and sighing again as he sits down. “I don’t - know.”

His eyes widen a fraction, “What?”

“I don’t know. Half the time I literally want to murder you.” He nods to himself, feeling a little shock run through him as a minuscule smile passes over Quentin’s lips, “And the other half, I want to protect you because you’re fucking incapable of staying out of danger for more than five minutes.”

“I’m not in danger right now.”

“No. You’re not.”

“Then why are you trying to protect me? Right now?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. I’m sad. You don’t want me to be sad.”

“Who the fuck wants people to be sad?”

Quentin raises an eyebrow. “You, usually.”

“I don’t want people to be sad,” Penny retorts, feeling mildly offended at the thought, even if he is partly right. “I just want them to be realistic.”

Quentin watches him for a moment. A hand runs through his hair, and Penny catches himself watching the way his fingers get caught through the strands. Remembers his own hands getting tangled - how soft, and fine it was between his fingers. The sound Quentin made when he accidentally tugged on it. “Let’s be realistic, then,” Quentin murmurs, letting his legs drop to the side of the couch, and turning his body to face Penny.

“What?”

“Realistically,” Quentin starts, “Are you attracted to me? You know I’m attracted to you. You know everything I think. Tell me what you think.”

“Am I attracted to you? Come on -,”

“Please.” His eyebrows furrow, and he’s looking at him with the pathetic pout.

“I mean. You’re not ugly.”

Quentin’s eyes narrow slightly, “I’ll take that as a yes.” He scoots a bit closer, and Penny eyes the distance narrowing between them warily. “Did you like kissing me?”

Penny looks up at him, then, narrowing his own eyes, crossing her arms.

“You don’t remember, then?” Quentin asks, soft, scooting forward just a bit more. Penny shakes his head. “That’s okay,” He whispers, reaching up and placing a hand on penny’s forearm gently. “It’d be fairly easy to remind you. If - if you’d want that.”

The silent chant of ‘oh god please want this’ that flashes through Quentin’s head is almost comical, if not for Penny’s heart stopping, and his breathing quickening. “Would it?” He asks.

“Just say you need a reminder. I’m good at reminders.”

Penny watches him for a moment, before nodding slowly. “A reminder wouldn’t be awful, I guess.”

Quentin grins, slow and almost predatory - a look that almost gives Penny pause, but then he’s leaning in and his lips are pressing up against Penny’s. He forgets to breathe for a moment, Quentin’s hand squeezing around his forearm. But when he remembers, it’s a quick exhale, brushing over their cheeks, as he relaxes into it, uncrosses his arms, one hand moving to grip just below Quentin’s armpit, and the other grabbing roughly at his hip, desperate for purchase. Quentin’s arms come up, locking behind Penny’s neck at his elbows.

It’s short, too short, and then Quentin’s pulling away, just enough to look at him. Their noses are a breadth apart, and one of his hands is playing with the short hairs at the nape of Penny’s neck. “Reminder enough?” He asks, quiet, breathless.

“No,” Penny says, “I don’t remember anything.” Quentin smiles, eyes crinkling as he thinks, ‘is he offering more? is that what’s happening?’ Penny rolls his eyes, tightening his grip on Quentin’s hip, “Yes, that’s what’s happening you fucking idiot.” And then he’s pulling him back in, chuckling as Quentin breathes in a quiet laugh against his lips.


End file.
